s.

Where had he been in the interval? In town, buying a cast of Donatello's
St. Cecilia. He had been obliged to compare. But Alice of course knew,
he said, how wretchedly inferior Donatello's Cecilia was.

Alice began to be seriously alarmed. "My dear friend, you will spoil
everything for yourself. It is in your nature."

He answered proudly: "Never yet have I seriously set myself an aim which
I have not accomplished."

"I quite believe that. You can work, you can overcome difficulties, and
you can also wait."

"I can."

"But you cannot suppress yourself; you cannot allow her to come to you."

Frans was hurt. "What do you mean, Alice?"

"I want to remind you, dear friend, that you don't know Mary; you don't
know the world she lives in. You are a bear from the backwoods."

"It may be that I am a bear. I don't deny that. But what if she should
have become fond of a bear? One is not easily mistaken in such matters."

He would not allow his high hopes to be cast down. He came beseechingly
towards her--even tried to embrace her; he was given to hugging.

"Come now, Frans; behave yourself. And remember, this is the second time
you have disturbed me."

"You shall be disturbed. You shall not go on modelling your prisoner in
there. Dear Alice, my own friend--you shall model my happiness."

"What more can I do for you than I have done?"

"You can procure me admission to the house."

"That is not such an easy matter."

"Bah! You can manage it quite well. You must! you must!"

He talked, coaxed, caressed, until she gave in and promised.

Whatever the reason, her attempt was a failure.

"If I asked my father to receive a young man who has not been introduced
to him, he would misunderstand me," said Mary. Alice admitted this at
once. She was angry with herself for not having thought of it. Instead
of consulting with Mary as to whether the thing might not be managed in
another way, she gave up the project altogether. She was still annoyed
when she communicated the result to Frans Roey; she had the feeling, she
said, that Mary objected to the interference of any third person. She
impressed on him again that he must be careful. Frans was miserable.
Alice made no attempt to comfort him.

He came back next day. "I cannot give it up," said he. "And I cannot
think of anything else."

So long did he sit there, so often did he repeat exactly the same thing
in different words, and so unhappy was he, that good-natured